Visiting Hours
by Distant Glory
Summary: While recovering from his fight with Scar, Kimblee gets an unexpected visitor... Mild Kimvy.


Trying to decide on a genre for this fic was a real pain. I suppose it could be categorised as 'romance' or 'hurt/comfort' or 'humor', but all of those are far too strong. I eventually left it as 'general', because it was about the only one that wouldn't overstate things!

 _Disclaimer:_ If I owned Fullmetal Alchemist, Kimblee and Envy would have gotten a lot more interaction.

* * *

 **Visiting Hours**

"You look like shit."

Solf J. Kimblee opened his eyes. It was dark in the mountain hospital, and judging by the lack of sound, it was the middle of the night. Which did not explain why one of his subordinates was standing beside his bed, arms crossed, with an expression somewhere between distaste and annoyance.

Kimblee's eyes flicked towards the door. The lights outside were dim.

"If you keep your voice down, you can probably dispense with the disguise," he suggested.

Someone who was certainly not Lieutenant Sharpe glanced over one broad shoulder, made a thoughtful noise, and then shrugged. Red lightning crackled silently around his body, which became small and slender. Envy shook out their long hair, as though it had been trapped under something constricting. Since meeting Envy, Kimblee had often wondered what it was like, wearing another shape—particularly one larger or smaller than Envy's normal form. He would ask, one day, but now was not the time.

"You look more comfortable like that," he offered instead.

"And you still look like shit," returned Envy.

Kimblee cracked a smile. "Not all of us have the benefit of instantaneous regeneration."

Something flickered over Envy's face, too quickly for Kimblee to pin the expression down. But it made the disgust seem all the more intense by comparison. "What even happened?" they demanded. "You were right on his tail, and then suddenly we get a call that says that you were hospitalized after being _impaled_."

Kimblee's injuries throbbed. "I overestimated myself, and underestimated him," he said.

"No shit," said Envy sarcastically. "Never would have guessed."

Kimblee chose to let this pass by. He didn't mind pain, but mockery stung. It was probably a just punishment for letting himself get into the situation he had. He should have asked more questions about Scar's fighting technique. He'd read the reports, of course—he wasn't _that_ incompetent. But either the report-writers had missed something, or Scar was changing his technique.

And speaking of missing something... "Doctor Marcoh was not with him," he said.

Envy's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"The reports indicated that there was a middle-aged man with black hair traveling with Scar," said Kimblee. "And that was the case. But that man was not Marcoh."

Rage blazed in Envy's eyes. Adrenalin, cold and thrilling, rushed through Kimblee's body—accompanied by an increase in pain from his injury. He was briefly glad that Envy's fury was not directed at him. Envy hated to be outmanoeuvred, and a fight at the moment would hardly be fair or fun.

"That—" Rage apparently too great for words, Envy resorted to making gestures reminiscent of snapping necks. Kimblee watched with amusement, until the homunculus regained control of themself and pushed a hand through their long hair. "Fantastic. So either that _was_ Marcoh's corpse, or they're not together after all..."

"Don't dismiss the possibility of their being together so easily," said Kimblee meditatively. He'd had time to think about this, even with the surgery and the drugs clouding his mind. "Scar is certainly intelligent. He drew our attention to himself at every opportunity." He cocked an eyebrow at Envy. "The better to allow Marcoh to travel undetected, perhaps?"

Envy looked reluctant to concede their anger, but nodded. "Maybe. But where to?"

"Somewhere in this area, certainly," said Kimblee. "As he made every effort to draw our attention when traveling west, Scar made every effort _not_ to draw our attention while heading north."

Envy snorted derisively. "Fat lot of help that is."

"It's still less than the entire country," Kimblee countered. "And I doubt that an Ishbalan has much experience with this kind of climate."

"And you do?"

Kimblee grinned. "I'm a fast learner."

Envy grinned back, almost despite themself. Then the smile faded. "Okay, fine. So Scar is probably somewhere in this area and maybe Marcoh too. There's not much you can do about it from that bed, is there?"

Kimblee's smile dropped. "No," he admitted. For a moment, pre-emptive anger surged through him, beating in time with the throbbing of his wound. To be forced back into inactivity after finally being released was nearly intolerable—and the fact that it was his own overconfidence and the giddy thrill of freedom that put him there made it so much worse.

Envy's look was much more knowing that Kimblee would have liked. He tried to school his expression into something closer to his usual impervious mask; Envy acknowledged this with a faint smirk. But all they said aloud was, "How long are you going to be stuck there?"

"As little time as possible," said Kimblee grimly.

"Give me a time frame here, useless."

The epithet stung. " _I don't know._ Too long."

"I don't suppose that there's any chance that Scar will come to you? You did kill his family."

"And I taunted him about it," agreed Kimblee. "Perhaps. It depends on what his purpose for coming here is, and whether that outweighs the need for vengeance."

Envy's lips pursed. "If he gave up a chance to kill Marcoh... I'd say it's pretty important." They scowled. "I don't like it."

"You have no idea what he might be trying to do?"

"Not a clue." The words were huffed; clearly painful for Envy to admit. "I would have thought that he would leave Amestris to go to the dogs after what we did, but." They growled, the sound far more animalistic than human. It sent another instinctive thrill of adrenalin down Kimblee's spine. Ancestors of his would have fled before beasts sounding like that. "Unfortunately," and Envy's words were bitten out now, like it was pulling teeth to speak them, "he found out that _I_ was the one who shot that kid, not a real Amestrian soldier."

Kimblee's eyebrows rose. "Really? How?" Envy had impressed upon him, when they told Kimblee that choice piece of information, that it was of the utmost secrecy.

Envy looked shifty. "That Fullmetal runt told him."

"And how did someone like _that_ —someone who, if I recall, would have been a mere child when the war broke out—find out something so very...secret?" He didn't need the verbal answer to that question. The murderously uncomfortable look on Envy's face told him everything that he needed to know.

He suppressed the urge to smile. It was nice to have the tables turned a little.

Despite the fact that Kimblee kept his face as blank as he could, Envy still glared daggers at him. Kimblee contrived to shrug, despite the pain it caused him. "Well, I suppose it hardly matters who started it. The bodies were still piled high on either side when we were done, and you didn't need to lift a finger to do it. _That_ was all Amestrian." Envy's glare faded, the homunculus clearly mollified by the words. Kimblee smirked. "And Scar has personally experienced _my_ handiwork, so he can have no doubt of the part I played."

Envy grinned at him a moment. Kimblee enjoyed it. When so many of his own kind viewed him as a monster, it was pleasant to win the approval of those who look down on humanity as so many insects.

And perhaps the fading of that grin had too strong a corresponding effect on Kimblee's mood. He set it aside to examine later.

"But whether Scar comes after you or not, we need you out of that bed," said Envy. "And..." They trailed off.

"And?" prompted Kimblee, when it appeared that Envy was not going to continue.

Envy shrugged, expression closed off. "I'll need to chat to the Fuhrer. But you might have another job once you're up and about again. It's kind of convenient that you're up here in the north right now. Might save us some trouble."

Kimblee knew better than to press for details at this moment, but he had to admit, he was intrigued by the possibilities. "I look forward to getting my orders," he says.

Envy smirked. Red lightning played around them again as they changed back to the form of Lieutenant Sharpe. "Sit tight, sir," he said, adopting character along with form. "We'll get you a better doctor."

Kimblee just nodded. His adrenalin was ebbing; his body demanded sleep. He closed his eyes.

"Sleep well, Crimson Lotus," said Sharpe's voice from the door.

Kimblee drifted back into unconsciousness with a memory of a sharp grin before him.


End file.
